But would Orthallen have mentioned the possibility twice if it didn’t exist?
So just what foreign princes were there, out there? She dismissed her ladies, and selected a gown to be worn at dinner while her maids drew a hot bath.
Did the Shin’a’in have princes? She couldn’t remember anything of the sort. :Caryo, is there such a thing as a Shin’a’in prince?:
:I’ve never heard of one.: Caryo sounded surprised. :I think they don’t have things like Kings and Princes. I think they are an alliance of Clans.:
That tallied with the little that Selenay recalled, but perhaps some of the Clans were big enough that their Chiefs would qualify as princes. There were a great many Shin’a’in after all. It was an—interesting possibility.
She stepped into the bath that had been prepared for her, and chased the maids away while she soaked. As she relaxed in the hot lavender-scented water, she had a silly little vision of a strong, wild warrior, raven hair down to his waist, riding into Haven dressed in black furs and leathers, astride—bareback, of course—a horse as black as his hair. And wouldn’t that make a pretty picture, the two of them riding together, she all in Whites on Caryo, he on his midnight steed. . . .
She gave herself a mental shake. Ridiculous, of course; what Shin’a’in nomad would ever leave the Plains, much less do so with the intention of marrying a foreign, civilized queen? Besides, even if he came here looking for her, he wouldn’t stay. The Shin’a’in never stayed away from the Plains for long, and she could scarcely leave Valdemar. What would the Shin’a’in get out of such a marriage, anyway? Valdemar was too far from the Plains for there to be any advantage in an alliance at all. No, no, no—too easy to burst that particular bubble of illusion.
But who else did that leave? Rethwellan? Were there unmarried princes in Rethwellan? If there were, well, they at least shared a border with Valdemar, and it would be an advantage to them to have such an alliance, if only for trade advantages. Menmellith? Menmellith was a principality of Rethwellan, but she couldn’t really recall anything at all about their ruling family. Not Karse, of course—
Could there be interest as far away as Jkatha or Ceejay, which were just names on a map to her? Surely not; Valdemar didn’t even trade directly that far away, so why would any stray princeling come wandering up here?
But there might be places she had never heard of. To the North—well, Iftel was out of the question; no one ever came past their borders except a few favored traders who were remarkably close-mouthed about the place.
The bath was cooling; time to finish and get out, before someone came in here to scrub her. Stupid; she’d bathed herself for the last fourteen years and more, so what was it about being a Queen that rendered her incapable of bathing herself now?
But the splashing as she emerged from the bath seemed to be some sort of signal that caused maids to swarm around her with towels and robes and scents and lotions. And for once, involved in her own thoughts, she let them fuss over her.
Once she was properly clothed in a lounging robe, they messed about with her hair while she continued her ruminations. North, other than Iftel, were the barbarians above the Forest of Sorrows. Surely not. Surely not. The idea of a greasy, violent, fur-clad brute was even more repulsive than some of the octogenarians the Council had suggested.
Were there little secretive kingdoms out in the West, in the Pelagiris Forest or past it? It was possible. There were certainly people out there, and not just the half-mythical Hawkbrothers. There were entire villages that looked to the Hawkbrothers for protection, so maybe there were Kingdoms in the West. But still—what possible advantage could they have in an alliance with Valdemar? Nothing that she could imagine.
Or were there men in other Kingdoms who were like the Great Dukes of Valdemar, who held enough power that they qualified as princes? There might well be; she hadn’t had time to study such things. In such a case, for a younger son, there would be a great deal of prestige and advantage in marrying a Queen, even if it left the young man as nothing more than a Consort without ruling powers. His children would rule, if they were Chosen, and that might be enough. Separate trade agreements could be made with the family, and that might be enough. There was a great deal of difference between royal marrying royal, and royal stooping to wed a rank below hers. In that case, the advantages to be gained were almost all on the side of the lower rank.
:Surely there’s something in the archives of letters from ambassadors and trade envoys,: Caryo said helpfully. :Or Seneschal’s Herald Kyril will know where to look. I should think that someone would know if we might expect a spate of foreign suitors.:
A foreign prince—or more than one—the idea gave her a kind of fluttery feeling of excitement inside. Oh, they might well all be as impossible or even repulsive as the candidates she’d been presented with so far, but—at least they would be someone different.
And surely one would be older than an adolescent and younger than a graybeard. Maybe even handsome—though she wouldn’t necessarily care, as long as he wasn’t a monster. Someone she didn’t know, that she couldn’t predict, someone with entirely new ways and manners—Even if she didn’t want to marry him, it would be interesting to have him in her Court.
It would be more than interesting—it would be fascinating! She licked her lips, and hardly noticed the maids tugging at her hair.
I mustn’t get my hopes up, she told herself. There might not be any such thing. If they exist, they might all be old. Or feeble-minded. Or already married. She shuddered involuntarily, as she realized that she’d had a narrow escape without realizing it. If King Alessandar hadn’t gotten wedded to his sweet young thing—if he’d still been alone—
Well, he would not have let the opportunity to propose slip past, no matter how many sweet young things were in his Court. And the Council would never have allowed her to reject his suit. Hardorn and Valdemar had been allies for so very long that there had even been cases of Heralds coming to the rescue of Hardornans in the past. Even Herald Vanyel had done so; that was how he earned his title of “Demonsbane.” There would have been no way to gracefully turn down such a proposal.
Bright Havens, what a narrow escape!
She suddenly needed to know, and know with certainty, if there really was a possibility for a foreign suitor.
I have to know. And I truly have to know if there are any unwedded Alessandars just waiting for my year of mourning to be over—
Well, there was one person to ask, and it wasn’t Herald Kyril, however knowledgeable Kyril might be. No, Orthallen would be the one to ask. After all, he was the one who had brought it all up in the first place. If there had been such a position in her Council as Foreign Minister, he surely would have been the one to fill it; his knowledge of the lands outside of Valdemar was as exacting as hers was vague.
A foreign prince. . . . An easy thought to kick off daydreams, and it was a good thing that she was safely away in her own suite where no one would notice if her attention wandered.
When the maids were finished with her, she chased them out, all but one, whom she sent off with a note to Orthallen. They would discuss this tonight, after her dinner with the Court, for certain.
***
Alberich had a meeting of his own after dinner, and he had, with some regret, decided against inviting Myste to share it. No, there could only be one invitee to this “gathering,” and it had to be the Queen’s Own.
Talamir was, for once, very much alert and in the here and now as he examined the documents that Myste had purloined. Alberich had been reluctant to let them out of the salle; he was even more reluctant to let them out of his sight. Fortunately for all concerned, Talamir had no trouble in getting about, though he was still—well—fragile.
It was hard on a man to have been through all that Talamir had—dying and being dragged back to life again must have been unthinkably grim. At Talamir’s age, it had been more that, and Alberich was still surprised that he was reasonably sane afterward. In
a way, he was doing far better than anyone had any right to expect.
:Yes, he’s fragile, rather than frail,: Kantor agreed. :And a good half of that is mental, I’d say.:
Except when something that required all of his attention was before him. Then he was the old Talamir again. It was the old Talamir that had appeared, unescorted, at the door of Alberich’s rooms. It was the old Talamir, alert and in possession of all of his wits and wiles, who heard him out, and examined the documents with great care. Alberich hoped—wildly, he knew, but stranger things had happened—that Talamir would recognize the cipher, even be able to read it a little. The odds were very much against it, but—well, ciphers and secret messages were not part of the training of a Karsite Cadet, and the denizens of the vile dens down near Exile’s Gate that he usually trafficked with were barely literate. Asking them to manage a cipher would be like asking a pig to dance on a tightrope.
“Well,” the Queen’s Own said, putting the pages down carefully. “I don’t know enough about ciphers to make any sense of this. In fact, there’s something we should consider, and that’s the possibility that this might not even be in Valdemaran.”
Curses. Oh, well.
“Actually,” Alberich said with extreme reluctance, “it probably is not. If consider we do that it was intended for someone in another land, in that language it would be. Which could be anything.”
“So we have two puzzles to crack; the cipher itself, and which language it’s in. Still—” Talamir rested his index finger along his upper lip, his eyes opaque with thought. “Still, we’re very much further on than we were before. If someone is going to this extreme to send messages in cipher, I think we can be pretty certain it isn’t just Guild secrets or messages to a mistress. I will need to take these to an expert, I think.”
“I should, the originals prefer to keep here,” Alberich ventured, wondering how Talamir would take that. “Evidence, they may become.”
“Oh, certainly!” Talamir waved his hand dismissively, as if the idea of taking the originals was out of the question. “I would rather you did, too. Myste can make copies for me to give to—” He hesitated a moment. “Well, forgive me, if I just tell you it is a fellow whose hobby is ciphers, one I’ve taken such problems to before this. Odd little chap, but solid and true, and you’d be surprised if you knew who he was. I won’t tell you his name, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Safer for him, if you do not,” Alberich agreed. “Secrets are secrets between two, in danger between three, and often lost between more than three.”
Talamir nodded, but with an air of assurance that he had been certain that Alberich would understand before he’d asked the question.
“And, if you don’t mind my saying it, it would be safer for Myste if she can get away from those actors,” Talamir replied. “But I doubt either of us could persuade her.”
“Of that, you may be sure,” Alberich sighed, having spent several marks fruitlessly attempting to persuade her to do just that. “If I leave now, they’ll be suspicious, and you’ll never get a chance to follow Norris and find out who he’s meeting!” she’d said, which, alas, was true enough. “And if he trusted me once, he’ll likely trust me again. Think of what else I could get! What if he really runs out of time some day, and asks me to do the ciphering!” “More of these, she hopes to obtain,” he added.
“Well, the more samples, the better. If they change the cipher key, my man will spot that much right off.” Talamir pushed the papers across the table to Alberich. “Put those somewhere safe, and I’ll come and get the copy—”
“Tomorrow, Myste says,” Alberich began. “Two copies—”
Talamir smiled. “Good! Then instead of my coming alone, let’s have a little get-together with Jadus, and Crathach, too. With the originals hidden, you should be all right bringing the copies up to the Collegium—we can meet in Jadus’ rooms. No one would see anything amiss in that, and you can safely give me the copies then. Clandestinely, if you like. Or just come along to my rooms to ’remind me’ of our gathering, and pass me the copies then.”
“That is the best plan. And I should like to see the others. Jadus is—I have not seen much of him—” Alberich said, feeling guilty.
“Because it isn’t easy, learning to get about on one leg, and once he got his strength back, he’s been working hard at it,” Talamir replied. “He hasn’t had much time to spare for any of us but Crathach, my friend, but I think he’s well on the road to feeling useful again. He won’t be doing any dancing, but there’ll be a vacancy for a Herald in the Courts of Justice in Haven, and he’ll do well there.”
Alberich was relieved; Jadus probably would do well there, for his sound common sense if nothing else, and his soft ways would put frightened people at their ease. But when the time came for stern justice, Jadus was not a man to be put off by anything, or anyone.
“Tomorrow night, then,” Alberich agreed, and gathered up the papers.
Talamir stood. “I don’t want to see where you put them, so I’ll take my leave now.” He glanced at the stained-glass window, and raised an eyebrow. “Now I see why you put that bit of artwork in. Or one reason, anyway.”
“Yes. We cannot be watched, through such a thing,” Alberich replied.
“Hmm. And when I think of all the people who said you were the last person to put in Dethor’s shoes. . . .”
“Myself, included,” Alberich replied. Talamir gave him a penetrating look, then shrugged.
“I wouldn’t have picked Myste as a spy either,” he said. “Good night, Weaponsmaster.”
When he was gone, Alberich folded the papers into their original packet, and felt carefully under the table until he found the catch that released a little drawer inside one of the thick legs. Dethor had shown it to him, so he was reasonably sure that no one else knew about it. There were hiding places like this all over the private quarters of the salle, but this was the only one that he could use without getting up. Probably there was no one out there trying to make sense of the shadows on the other side of the colored glass, but just in case there was, there would be no way to tell that Alberich had hidden something. It only looked as if he was reaching for his drink.
And there was another set of papers on the tabletop, just in case the shadows had betrayed that Talamir had been looking at papers. This was a report about bandit activity along the Karsite Border, something that Alberich could reasonably have an interest and expertise in. If someone came to the salle in the next mark or so, Alberich would take great pains to mention that report. It wasn’t just that he was taking precautions about the papers Myste had stolen, he was protecting himself. There were a great many people in Court circles who distrusted “the Karsite,” besides those who had no reason to love him because he did not cosset their children. Sometimes he grew very tired of it all.
Layers upon layers; he envied Jadus and Elcarth and all the others who didn’t have to live their lives weaving webs of subterfuge. He wished—
Well, it didn’t matter what he wished. He would, as a gambling friend of his had often said, play out the cards he had been dealt.
Complications, complications.
“My life is full of complications,” he said aloud. There was no answer. Vkandis knew it was true enough.
Another complication: Myste herself. She’d been on his mind all day. There had been no doubt in his mind that Myste had been discreetly flirting with him last night. And he’d liked it. He’d even tried a little clumsy flirting back—
:Not as clumsy as you think,: Kantor put in. :I was pleasantly surprised. You’ve got a light: touch, when you care to use it.:
He felt himself blushing, but it was at least partly with pleasure. But what would the other Heralds think of this, if they realized that she and he were attracted to one another.?
:If they bothered to take any notice, they’ll wait to see if you mind teasing, then give you both a bit of a word about it, now and again,: Kantor told him. :Other than that, they’d pro
bably begin a betting pool as to when the two of you decided to stop flirting and get down to something serious.:
:Serious—: he ventured.
:Bedding,: Kantor said bluntly.
Alberich bit his tongue. Quite by accident—Kantor had startled him. :But—:
:Sorry. Didn’t mean to shock you. But if this gets past flirting, Myste is going to expect it to go there. Heralds are—well, by the standards of a Karsite, they’re flagrantly immoral and utterly hedonistic when it comes to the ways of man with maid. Not that she is. Myste, I mean. She’s not a maid.:
Maybe he should have been shocked, but he wasn’t. Startled, yes, but not shocked. Well, not that Myste wasn’t a maid, anyway.
In fact, he was relieved. It had been a long time since he’d—well—and then it had been someone he’d paid. He didn’t have any practice in the more polite forms of congress, and he was probably going to step on his own feet more than once if things—got past flirting. And the ache in certain parts of him let him know in no uncertain terms that his body certainly wanted it to get past flirting. Far past flirting.
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